Crik Piss

When I was a lad, my family passed many a summer Saturday riding our bikes together around Missoula. It was a simple pleasure, and something we could all do together without too much direct interaction with one another.

One lovely afternoon, oh, I'd say it was probably 1982 or so, we were riding through Greenough Park. As was my wont, I had darted ahead of the rest of my family on my rad Schwinn Predator. So far ahead, in fact, that I saw fit to stop and take a piss in Rattlesnake Creek while they caught up to me. As I publicly relieved myself, a jogger ran up to me and started giving me a lecture about urinating in the creek. It must've been a fairly prolonged lecture, because eventually the rest of my family rode up. For some reason, once my parents were there, the jogger started getting a lot angrier and yelling specifically at my dad. My dad isn't really the argumentative type and never looks for trouble, so I can't imagine he was provoking the jogger.

I don't remember how it happened, but suddenly the jogger lunged at my dad, who was straddled over the frame of his bike that was way too big for him. He had my dad by the throat and was muttered some threatening stuff through clenched teeth. Then he let go and ran off before any of us could really figure out what the hell was going on.

Then we all went to Bar-MG for milkshakes.